The Traitor's Mission Raid
by evaschon1793
Summary: Moffitt is sent on a dangerous mission...one that requires him to turn traitor to the Allies.
1. Mission

"At ease, Sergeant Moffitt," Commander Boggs said. He gestured to the chair that sat opposite his, with the desk between the two chairs. "Please sit," he said, while taking a seat himself. Moffitt pulled out the chair and sat down. A flicker of confusion flitted through him. That he was meeting Boggs by himself was odd enough, but the commander had never offered any of them a chair during their short meetings.

Which meant, perhaps, that this wasn't going to be over shortly.

"You're probably wondering why I don't have the rest of your patrol here," Boggs said. He leaned forward slightly. "You'll understand all that in time. Right now, we need you and not them. That's the short version of it. The longer one will be a little harder to explain." He sighed. "We don't want you to discuss this meeting with anyone. Especially not Sergeant Troy or the other men. You'll understand that soon too."

"We?" Moffitt said.

"The High Command and myself."

So the High Command was involved in this. They rarely, if ever, got tangled up in the Rat Patrol's affairs, since Boggs knew more about the way they worked and what they needed to do than anyone else. HC would be over their head if they tried to assign most individual missions.

Moffitt's fingers played over the arm of his chair, silently drumming in erratic patterns. It was a habit, born out of nerve-wracking missions, interrogations, and worry about the unknown. And if HC was in on whatever mission he – and apparently not the others – was being given, it was most likely high risk, high danger.

Sometimes he wished that he wasn't so qualified for every mission they threw at him. But being able to speak both German and Arabic fluently, as well as having an excellent understanding of the North African desert, made him the Patrol's go-to man for much of the undercover work. He'd gone on those missions more times than he could count.

"Sounds important," Moffitt said.

"It is, sergeant. It is. High Command has fully briefed me on your mission, and now I'm to relay that information to you. We expect you to act on it at once, since we can't afford to lose any time on this matter." Boggs folded his hands and lay them on top of the desk, holding down a few papers that had been fluttering in the overhead fan's draft.

"We've known for some time that the Afrika Korps are planning a major offensive, one last push before we end this campaign. If they're successful with their attack, the campaign will go on indefinitely, and everyone knows that we need to finish this and move on to Italy. If we don't, this war will come to a stalemate, just like it did the last time."

Moffitt nodded.

"Needless to say, getting our hands on the information that the Krauts have would be a huge advantage. There may be nothing in writing yet, besides a few personal notes, but if we had a man inside, a man they could trust, he would be able to pick up enough to give us the edge. The mission would be difficult, dangerous, and maybe even deadly, but it needs to be done. The success or failure of this mission could change the entire outcome of this war."

He knew what was coming. He knew it. They'd ask him to disguise himself as a German officer, someone who could mingle around with other officers at German headquarters. He'd done it before, several times actually, and while undercover work wasn't exactly the easiest work in the world, someone had to do it. And he was probably the most qualified man they had for quite a wide radius.

Boggs looked directly at Moffitt. "You've probably guessed this by now, but High Command has chosen you for the mission. You have one objective: gather information about the Korps' offensive, getting physical evidence when possible in the form of charts, notebooks, and other documents."

"Who will I be going as?" Moffitt asked, keeping his voice neutral. His thoughts were tangled at the moment – he would need a few moments to collect them and figure out how he would work, the answers to questions he would be sure to be asked, and so on – and he didn't want to be probed with concerned questions or lead them to doubt his capabilities in regards to the mission.

"Yourself, sergeant," Boggs said.

Moffitt opened his mouth to speak, but Boggs stopped him.

"We need to you to defect for this mission. It could take several weeks and a disguise is hard to keep up for that period of time. You'll still be lying to them, but at least you won't have to impersonate someone you're not."

Actually, Moffitt was sure he'd be doing just that, since he'd never once have even thought of defecting, but he said nothing. Boggs continued. "If the Germans think that some of our own are going over to their side, becoming scared that the Allies will be defeated, they just might be a little more boastful about what they plan to do. And we can use that boasting."

Moffitt nodded again. He understood High Command's reasoning, even if the whole concept was against his nature. In times of war, trickery was the name of the game.

"This entire mission has to be kept secret. We need to make the Krauts believe that you really have gone over to their side. If everyone on our side knows it's a trick, there won't be any waves made about it, and the Germans'll get suspicious," Boggs said. "So beside me, you, and certain members of the High Command, no one will know. And once you turn traitor, so to speak, everyone will be talking about it."

So there would be no telling Troy or Tully or Hitch. Moffitt was already regretting the mission – and he hadn't even started – but there was nothing to be done about it. And what would happen when he got back? If everyone thought he was a traitor when he got back, would any steps be taken to prove his innocence? He knew that many times in war, the spy was punished or even shot by his own side when he returned, just to make the deception complete and completely fool the enemy. He was sure HC wouldn't go so far as to have him executed, but they could kick him out the army.

Then he stopped that train of thought. If he was successful, thousands of lives would be saved and the Germans would be pushed back into Italy. In comparison, his worry about whether or not his war time reputation would remain unsullied seemed trivial. Not to him, of course – he still didn't feel comfortable with the whole thing – but for the greater cause, he would do it.

"We're giving you a month to gather the required information. When the month is up, we'll send in a squad to get you out and bring you back here so you can give us what you've got. It'll be a quick operation." Boggs sat back in his chair. The papers fluttered up a little once again. "You'll tell the Krauts that you're fed up with being captured and doing all the dirty work for your commanding officers. That you want a change, you can see that the Allies will fail, and you want to defect and you have valuable information and skills that they can take advantage of. Is that all clear, sergeant?" Boggs finally asked.

"Quite clear," Moffitt said.

Boggs nodded. "You'll start tonight. Dismissed, sergeant."

Moffitt saluted and walked out, his head spinning. He had a lot to think about before night fall.


	2. Night

Tully stuck a matchstick in his mouth, and glanced back up at the entrance to HQ.

Moffitt had been gone for awhile, night was coming on, and if he didn't come soon, they'd have to either stay at HQ for the night or do some night driving to get back to camp. Night driving. He couldn't say that he hated a lot of things, but night driving wasn't the best habit to get into.

The door opened and Moffitt came out, walking quickly to the jeeps. He was probably thinking of night coming on too. When he was in speaking distance, Troy asked, "What did Boggs want?"

Moffitt hesitated for just a moment, then smiled a little. "He wanted to commend me for a job well done. The last mission." He didn't say anything else, just got in the jeep Tully was already sitting in and relaxed back against the seat. Tully gunned the engine, same as Hitch, and the two jeeps took off.

Tully kept his eyes on the road, but he could see Moffitt out of the corner of his eye. He seemed tense, nervous even. His hand kept tapping the side of the jeep, and his posture was rigid. Riding or driving a jeep, with all the noise and dust didn't exactly make for easy conversation, so Tully didn't say anything. He concentrated on driving fast as possible, intent on getting to camp before they ran into problems with the dark coming on.

:::

Moffitt stretched a little as he left the jeep for the tiny fire Troy had going. They'd made it to the tiny oasis they spent some nights at – after approaching it cautiously in case a German patrol had decided to stay the night – and now Troy was making coffee, Tully was getting some blankets from the jeeps, and Hitch was cooking up some beans or something of that sort.

The lie he'd told rankled in his mind, even if it was a little thing. He understood now just how difficult this mission would be when it came to the rest of his teammates. He was used to keeping little to no secrets from them – and, of course, never outright lying. Reading his letters from home to Tully, sharing opinions with Troy, or teaching Hitch Arabic. And now he'd have to conceal everything from them, even lie to them, in order to protect the mission.

Tully reached the fire about the same time he did, having shook out the blankets they kept in the back of the jeeps, and they both sat down opposite Troy. He was nearly done with the coffee, and Moffitt accepted a tin mug of it. He'd never had much taste for the drink, but it was hard to get tea, for one reason or another, so he'd started drinking coffee more often.

Beside him, Tully unscrewed the lid of his canteen and drained it in a couple of gulps. Driving was thirsty work.

His fingers worked in the sand, rubbing grains between his fingers, pushing his hand into the softness of it over and over again. Once he realized what he was doing, he stopped. It was yet another example of his worry. Worry about deceiving Tully and Hitch and Troy, worry about what they'd think when he escaped with one of the jeeps, but even more, worry about the coming mission.

It would be difficult, simply because he'd never once even thought of defecting, so his part would be that much harder to play. His last undercover mission, the one he'd told Troy Boggs had been congratulating him on, hadn't gone well. Posing as an electrician to gain access to important documents had gone horribly awry, so he understood why was a 'come as you are' sort of thing. Slightly less risk. Still, every time he thought about that mission, he felt sick.

"What's on your mind?" Troy asked, pouring himself another cup. Hitch was stirring beans a little off to the side of the fire's centre. Tully's chin rested on his knees, the picture of relaxation. But Moffitt knew he was listening intently to everything that was said. Tully had an uncanny ability to sense things, and he probably had felt a little of the tension that he was experiencing.

Moffitt shrugged. "Nothing, really." He held his mug up a little. "Good coffee."

Troy looked at him, puzzled, and Moffitt realized that he hadn't taken one sip.

Night. Dark and cold.

Moffitt had taken the first watch – something he regularly did anyway – and now that everyone else was sleeping, it was time to act. A simple matter of starting one of the jeeps and driving away as fast as he could. If he made a quick enough getaway, then the others wouldn't be able to catch him before he made it to German HQ. Once he was within walking distance of the building, he'd leave the jeep and approach on foot. Less threatening that way. Simple and easy.

Only it didn't seem all that simple to him.

He was sure that the others wouldn't think of him as a traitor, but they needed to at least be surprised and alarmed so that any German spies lurking around would be satisfied that he had, in all actuality, defected. But the thought of stealing a jeep, leaving without a word, and possibly leaking information to the Germans that would make the team's war a lot harder to fight, made his stomach churn.

It had to be done though, so he slid into the driver's seat of Tully's jeep, and after a moment – just to steel himself – he started the engine and blasted out of the camp.

No looking back, no hesitation. Although he'd found the loud engine annoying many times, he was glad for it now. He couldn't hear anyone shouting after him. Keeping his eyes straight ahead, foot on the gas, he concentrated on putting as much distance between himself and the camp possible. There was no time to think about what lay ahead in the next few hours, which was good.

Because if he'd thought long and hard about it, his resolve might have faltered.

First there was silence, then the next moment that silence was broken by the sound of a jeep engine.

:::

Tully sat up, blinking, unable to see anything through the darkness and sleepiness that fogged his brain, not to mention his eyesight. By the time his head cleared, all he could make out was a little dot of a jeep moving further and further away at a killing speed.

Troy and Hitch were up too. But Moffitt wasn't anywhere to be seen.

"He...he took the jeep," Hitch said after a few moments of stunned silence.

Yawning, even though the situation was anything but casual – he just couldn't help it – Tully stood up. He was still half-asleep and none of it really made sense. Moffitt wouldn't go off like that, would he? That was stupid, wasn't it? What possible reason would he have? Unless he was sleep walking. Or sleep driving.

"Did you see anything Tully?" Troy asked.

Tully shook his head.

"Let's go." Troy jumped onto the remaining jeep, Hitch got into the shotgun seat, and Tully started the engine. In a moment, they were after Moffitt, taking the same route he had. Straight across the desert.

:::

At one point, Moffitt thought he heard another jeep, but he pushed the vehicle a little harder, and soon the sound died away.

He was actually doing it. Getting away from the Rat Patrol was next to impossible, unless you were a member of it yourself. He wasn't exactly happy with how everything was turning out, but at least there was a little relief in the fact that his mission wasn't a failure. Yet. The adrenaline that had poured through him during the first few minutes of the getaway had subsided and he felt calm. Calmer, at least.

It was always like this at the start of undercover work. If he was nervous and distraught, the enemy would catch that immediately and be suspicious. So he'd trained himself to always be calm and in control as much as he could. Of course, turning himself over to the enemy as a defector didn't really leave many areas for him to be in control of.

A couple more hours of driving brought him within a mile of German headquarters.

He drove the jeep into some scrubby trees and underbrush, and then continued on foot. _Tully's never going to forgive me for abandoning the jeep,_ he thought, more as a joke than anything else, but the humour in the situation died away quickly. He was heading straight into the jaws of the lion, to become another one of its jackals.


	3. Deception

Major Richten shuffled through the few papers left on his desk after several long hours of reading, checking, and signing. He rubbed his eyes and picked up his pen again. Night was already turning into early morning but the sooner he got the papers off to Berlin, the sooner this campaign would be at an end. If only they were that close to winning the entire war.

When the North Afrika campaign wrapped up, he'd take a few weeks of leave. Go home and see his wife and children again. He'd been away for over a year. The war was tiring business, and the thought of home with cool air and green trees seemed more like a dream than a reality that was waiting for him. But if he worked hard enough and quickly enough, it would become a reality once again.

There was a knock on his door.

"Come in," he said without looking up from the document he was perusing. Requests for supplies to be sent in to Rommel's Korps. As the door opened, he laid it aside. Rommel himself would be here in a few days in preparation for the meeting. He could discuss the requests with him then.

One of the guards entered. Private Norbert. One of his best.

"What is it, private?" he asked.

"Major Richten, there's a man at the gate. He says he wants to speak with you."

Richten shook his head. "I have no time for him."

"But sir," Norbert said. "He's British."

:::

Moffitt was led through corridor after corridor. Even at this late hour of the night, there were guards, officers, and other people walking the halls, grouped in rooms, or wandering around with seemingly little aim or purpose. He didn't know their schedule, but it did seem a bit strange that so many of them would still be up. Maybe they were preparing for something big, just as Boggs had said.

After a few minutes of walking, he was hopelessly confused as to what doors led where and he was sure that he wouldn't be able to retrace his steps if needed. Either the building was large or he was purposely being led in a roundabout way to wherever he was going so that he wouldn't be able to escape. Wouldn't be able to escape easily, at least.

Finally, he and his guard – the same one who'd been sent to notify those inside headquarters that he was there – stood outside a carved, ornate door. Whatever or whoever was inside had to be important. The guard pushed the door open for him and Moffitt walked in, without being shoved, which was a good sign.

"You are British?" was the first thing that came from the man behind the large desk. Some documents were sitting on his desk, along with a small glass of wine, and it was obvious that he'd been working for some time. The man himself was a major, important enough that his orders about Moffitt would most likely stay permanent, although he wasn't sure if that fact should have been viewed as good or bad.

"Yes. Sergeant Jack Moffitt, formerly of the Long Range Desert Patrol."

The major sat up straight, eyes widening slightly. "The Rat Patrol?"

"Yes."

"What are you doing here?"

Moffitt opened his mouth to speak. The moment had come. He'd have to be convincing, of course. Sincere and open, completely opening himself up to questions and inspection. He was ready to that, though. He'd prepared, and now it was time to drop his bomb."You'll probably find this hard to believe, major, but I'm here to defect. From the Allies."

"I...I..."

:::

Richten tried to control his excitement as he went over Sergeant Moffitt's story again in his mind. The Rat Patrol, desert vermin that they were, were tricky and cunning. This could be a trap, but he wanted to believe that it wasn't. If the sergeant was telling the truth, there was no telling what it would mean for both the war effort and for himself personally. A promotion from Berlin would certainly be waiting for him.

But he would be careful and take every precaution before he accepted anything Sergeant Moffitt said. Even if he was lying, they would still have one member of the special desert patrol to interrogate and hold up as a trophy of war.

"Let me get this straight, sergeant," he said, voice a little higher from the enthusiastic delight running through him. "You're tired of doing the – what did you say? – dirty work for the Allies and never getting anything in return, besides a few beatings from some our own, so you want to come over to our side and share your desert expertise with us in return for some small compensation." Even as he spoke the words, a shiver of hope ran through him. It sounded almost too good to be true, which was why he was suspicious, but he was willing – more than willing – to learn more.

Moffitt smiled. "That's right, major. I've been in this war long enough to see both sides of the argument clearly, and from what I've observed, Britain isn't doing too good of a job protecting her own people, not to mention fighting for another country's." He paused for a moment, as if to collect his thoughts, and then said, "I think the new future of the twentieth century rests with Germany, and I don't want to waste my time fighting on the losing side."

It was a good answer, one that Richten agreed with wholeheartedly. Perhaps Sergeant Moffitt wasn't an infiltrator. He would have to see.

:::

Bitterness churned inside Moffitt as he spouted off lie after lie about Britain, the Allies, and his opinion of them. On the outside, however, he was calm, quite, and smiling. The major didn't seem like much of a formidable opponent, but he still had to keep on his guard. The wrong answer could seal him up in this place forever, as a prisoner.

"Your story is interesting, Sergeant Moffitt," the major said. He sounded convinced, but who could really tell? Moffitt gripped the arms of the chair that the major had insisted he sit in a little more tightly, fighting off the urge to tap his fingers on the polished wood. He had to appear calm, in control of himself, and with nothing to hide. "I believe we can use a man like you, if really do mean everything you say."

"I do, sir," Moffitt said. "It's too important for me to play around with."

He meant every word.

"It is growing late. Private Norbert will escort you to a room and we will talk again in the morning."

Moffitt nodded and stood up when the major did. "I look forward to it," he said.


	4. Resolve

The one jeep limped into headquarters. Tully was driving it, but just barely. Troy was in the seat beside him, awake, but bleary-eyed, and Hitch was slumped over in the back – not from a wound, thankfully, but from sheer exhaustion. They'd spent most of the night wide awake, looking for Moffitt, and the only thing they found was an abandoned jeep and nothing more.

Now, without any rest, Troy was going in to speak to Boggs and see what else they could do. As soon as the surprise of Moffitt's – what had it been? Escape? – had worn off, they'd radioed the commander and told him everything they knew. He'd ordered them to report in the morning. So here they were.

Tully pulled the jeep over beside the main tent, the one that served as a rag-tag sort of headquarters since they were the offensive force, not on the defensive like the Germans. They didn't have stolen mansions to set up in. Troy jumped out – well, more like slid out, since he was so tired – and Tully settled in to wait. After a few moments of watching the tent entrance, he gave up and curled down into his seat. He was worried about Moffitt – which of them wasn't? – but he wouldn't be of any use to anyone if he didn't catch a little sleep.

:::

"There's been rumours circulating about Sergeant Moffitt," Boggs said.

Troy stood opposite him, having refused the offer to sit down. He was tired, no denying it, but he couldn't relax until everything was worked out. He'd have to keep pushing through whatever he was feeling, stay awake and alert, and hopefully get Moffitt out of whatever mess he was in. He couldn't think of any reason for the strange behaviour of last night. Boggs could have the answers.

"Rumours, sir?"

Boggs nodded. He picked a paper of his desk, scanned it for a moment, and then lowered it. Troy had the feeling that he was delaying whatever he had to say. "News travels fast around here, and everyone's talking about what happened last night. Some say he went crazy, and others that he's gone over to the Germans. Betrayed your patrol and the Allies in general."

Troy shook his head. "Moffitt wouldn't do that. And I don't think he's crazy." At the moment, those were the only two options that made any amount of sense, but he would stake his life on Moffitt not being a traitor. He'd held up under torture more than once, and had never given an inch. To suddenly, and without any warning, defect to the Germans made no sense.

"That's all you've got?" he asked. "Rumours?"

Boggs sighed. "I'm afraid so, sergeant. We're at a loss, same as you." He looked genuinely confused and even sympathetic, but Troy wasn't convinced. Command usually had an easy time of getting information about almost anything, through their network of spies, and they'd been known to withhold that same information before just to gain the edge in a mission.

But he had no proof, nothing even to base his feelings on, so he saluted and left.

:::

Tully shook his head. "Doesn't make a lot of sense to me." Troy had shared everything that Boggs had said with them, and he didn't accept any of it. Moffitt would never betray them, and he'd have noticed if there was anything wrong with him earlier. Sure, he'd been acting a little worried, but that wasn't all that strange.

His bet was that Moffitt's sudden take-off had something to do with the long conversation he'd had with Boggs yesterday. Maybe some secret mission that they'd be briefed on later, but when he thought more about it, the idea still didn't hold water. They always worked together, they always knew all the details of each mission. All of them.

He chewed on his matchstick, and let Troy and Hitch think out loud.

"Moffitt's not a traitor," Hitch said. "Boggs is crazy if he thinks that."

Troy rested a hand on the jeep. "I don't think he does, Hitch. But some of the other guys do."

A private walked past them, then stopped. "Hey, are you guys part of that desert patrol we've heard so much about?" Troy and Hitch exchanged glances and Troy nodded. "I'm really sorry about your guy." Troy cocked his head. "That British guy. The one who deserted, or defected, or something like that."

"How do you know about that?" Troy asked.

Tully knew the way Troy thought, along with his many moods, and he was getting pretty close to boiling mad. Tight, controlled voice. Tense all over. Ready for a fight if it came to that.

"All the fellows are talking about it," the private said casually, obviously not getting the 'danger, Troy's about to explode' signals that Tully was. "Can't trust those limeys, can you?"

"Get out," Troy said. His voice was quiet, but it still sounded like a shout.

The private's face whitened, and he couldn't scurry away fast enough. Troy glared after him and if the situation hadn't been so serious, Tully might've grinned. Troy was always scaring everyone away – if they ever added a fifth man to their team, he'd probably be scared stiff before the first day was out. But the private's charge had been serious enough.

If most of the regular soldiers in this area thought that Moffitt was a traitor, there was only one thing to do.

Prove them wrong.


	5. Attack

Contrary to what he was expecting, Moffitt wasn't summoned to the major's – he still hadn't been told his name – office in the morning. He spent most of the night – what was left of it – tossing and turning and thinking, and by seven he was up, dressed, and ready for whatever the day might bring. It was now past twelve in the afternoon and except for a small breakfast sent up 'compliments of the major' nothing had broken the monotony of waiting.

If he tried to leave his room, two guards stood outside, rifles poised and ready.

Obviously, they didn't trust him yet. That was fine, he hadn't expected them to, but he was growing worried over the apparent lack of interest in him and the information he claimed to have. The only explanation he could think of for the delay was the fact that guests seemed to be arriving throughout the morning. Car doors slammed, doors opened, new voices were heard.

There was a shelf of books in his room – German titles, of course – and he tried to immerse himself in one of them, but he couldn't concentrate. He would be questioned further, and he had to decide how much information to give up, and how much to conceal. Boggs had warned him that they would expect some good, strong intelligence. Now he thought about what he would have share with the major and possible other officers.

He knew enough about Allied plans and positions to be a danger to everyone involved in the plan and, of course, he wouldn't share any of that. The only other thing he could think of was information about the Rat Patrol. But that was almost as bad as Allied battle plans. It wouldn't hurt as many men, but it could hurt friends. In some ways, he was glad the major had delayed their conversation, as it gave him more time to plan. In other ways, it gave him more time to think. Some things were easier done on the spur of the moment.

Pacing back and forth, he tried to think. What to tell them?

The location of the main oasis - the one they'd stopped at last night? That would be safest. Troy always made sure to approach it cautiously in case the Germans had holed up there during their absence, and they'd make a safe getaway. And there was another thing. It wouldn't take them long to put together the general direction he'd been heading with the rumours Boggs was sure to circulate. They'd be here before long, and he'd have to make sure their raid didn't succeed.

Moffitt put his hands to his head and stopped pacing. He didn't want to think about it anymore.

Betraying Troy and Tully and Hitch, betraying their location would be the hardest part of the mission – and the most necessary if he were to succeed.

:::

"I apologize for the delay, sergeant," the major said. "Please...sit," he added, motioning to the same chair Moffitt had sat in the night before. "Several important officers arrived today in preparation for a meeting that I will hosting. The preliminaries ended only a few moments ago. I sent for you as soon as I could."

Moffitt glanced around. Papers were stacked high on the major's desk – almost hiding the major himself – and there were two briefcases leaning against one of the wooden sides. The meeting seemed to leaving a paper trail, and getting his hands on a few of the documents, while a good idea, would be risky. Both to succeed with getting his hands on the papers and keep them hidden. The information on those sheets was probably exactly what Boggs and High Command were looking for, but the danger was large.

"It's quite alright, major...?"

"Richten. Major Richten."

Moffitt smiled. "Of course. Major Richten." One of the more important officers at German headquarters, and one that would certainly provide him with good information if he played his cards right. "I wouldn't want to interfere with your normal schedule. My arrival was unexpected."

"So you say you have information that you want to share with us here at headquarters," Richten said. He crossed his hands in front of him and smiled at Moffitt. It was a thinnish smile, but Moffitt returned it anyway. He was sure that the major wasn't interested in him as a human being – more as a machine that could dispense valuable information. And if the machine didn't work, what would he most likely do? Kick it.

:::

Moffitt felt drained, emotionally and mentally.

He'd shared the location of their base oasis, given instructions on how best to prepare for a raid – including bringing out heavy armour and vehicles – but Richten hadn't viewed it as enough. He didn't go so far as to say it out loud, but it was obvious that he wanted Allied troop numbers, movements, and battle plans. Moffitt had continued to insist that he was only a sergeant; he spent most of his time out in the desert, away from Allied headquarters; and he had no information of importance.

After about an hour of veiled threats, questioning, and Moffitt's insistence, something seemed to get through to the major. Capturing or killing the Rat Patrol would be excellent leverage for a promotion, maybe even to general, and besides being an excellent translator and desert expert, Moffitt was also valuable propaganda material.

Of course, he couldn't read Richten's mind, but it made sense. The major seemed more involved with his own thoughts at the moment, which was good because Moffitt wasn't sure how much longer he could keep up the pretense without a small breather. His mind was churning from all the things he'd said – irretrievable things – that could lead to his friends' capture. Or death.

Some minutes later, Richten dismissed him and he was taken back to his room.

He'd won himself another reprieve, but at what cost?

:::

Night was falling when they came in sight of German HQ.

The three of them had hung around Boggs' camp for most of the day, listening to bits of talk, with Troy going in to Boggs every three hours or so to ask him if he'd heard anything. Most of what they gathered put Moffitt at German HQ, although Tully still didn't see why he'd be there, or why he'd go willingly. Still, that's where they were headed.

Troy's plan was simple, simpler than most of his schemes, at least.

"We go in there, see if Moffitt's locked up, and get him out if he is. I've been there before, I know the layout. All you two have to do is cover me and make there aren't any guards to make trouble. Got it?" Tully nodded, still chewing on his matchstick, and so did Hitch. Troy jumped in the back of the jeep and they shot off toward German HQ.

Now they were here. It looked imposing, alright. Impressive, even. But Tully didn't waste time staring at the huge manor that housed the center of German activity in North Africa. He had a friend to break out of prison.

:::

The guards at the gate had been silenced, the wall scaled, the compound skirted.

Tully unlocked the gate from the inside, and drove the jeep through, keeping it as quiet as possible. Which wasn't very quiet, but it was better than nothing. Hitch was already beside Troy, keeping his gun trained on any suspicious movement, so Tully climbed onto the back of the jeep, .60 ready for any trouble.

Light dazzled Tully's eyes.

The compound lit up with spotlights, almost as bright as day. Troy had just reached the cells, but already he was running back, Hitch right behind him. Tully leaped down from the gun and slammed into the driver's seat as Troy and Hitch ran up and scrambled into the back.

Sirens were blaring now, machine guns firing, and as he steered the jeep around to blast out the gate, a bullet hit his right shoulder. He slumped over momentarily, pain blotting out his vision, making everything seem unreal, but he forced himself to get back up. The Germans were coming, they were going to kill him and everyone else if he didn't get them out of there...

He had to...to...

Then everything went dark and he was falling into an endless abyss.


	6. Surprise

"They hardly made it through the front gate before we ran them off," Richten said. He watched the sergeant carefully, gauging his reaction to the news. Although he'd certainly given them good information in regards to the best way to send the Rat Patrol running like the scared vermin they were, he was still careful and cautious. If he reported this to Berlin and the man turned out to be a spy, there would be no promotion for him.

Moffitt nodded. He seemed calm enough, sitting back in the plush chair.

"The soldiers who were down there firing at them, claim to have wounded or killed one. With this, and your defection, perhaps there will soon be no Rat Patrol for the Korps to contend with," Richten added. He smiled. "It is not often that we have the opportunity of routing the desert rats. I believe a celebration is in order."

He went over to a cabinet and poured two small glasses of wine.

"To victory on the North African front," he said, raising his glass.

"To victory," Moffitt said, and raised his.

:::

While he drank and laughed and talked with Major Richten, Moffitt's insides were churning. Had he been any less experienced in the art of undercover work and being able to keep his emotions in check, he would've betrayed himself from the moment Richten reported that someone had been wounded or, worse, killed.

As it was, the effort was becoming almost superhuman. All he wanted was to be dismissed – he couldn't appear too eager to leave – go back to his room, and think about what he'd done, what he could possibly do to fix this, and what he would do next to complete his mission. Because the mission took precedence over personal feelings and he had to complete it. So far he'd learned nothing other than that an important meeting was taking place soon, and he'd already spent three of his thirty days.

"Sergeant Moffitt," Richten began, the tone of his voice showing that a new topic of conversation was about to begin. "There is a radio station a few miles from here, in El Jebel, that we use to transmit propaganda broadcasts to all the Allied soldiers in North Africa. I was wondering if you would be willing to give a short speech to let everyone know you're truly on our side now. I'm sure rumours must be flying around your camp, and it would be best to put them at a rest, don't you think?"

The propaganda broadcast at El Jebel. So they'd started it up again, and Richten was asking him to be part of it. Moffitt had thought of this possibility more than once, but he'd always imagined the Germans themselves giving news of his defection. Not a personal speech coming directly from him. It would be a good stepping-stone toward fully convincing them that he was now on their side. Along with convincing the Allies. But what choice did he have?

"When will we go?" he asked, smiling.

The door opened just then.

"Go where, sergeant?"

Moffitt half turned in his chair.

It was Dietrich.

:::

Their camp was only a couple of miles away. Headquarters was over twenty. Tully needed medical attention badly, but they also needed to pause for a moment, bandage the wound as best they could to stop the bleeding, and then move on to HQ. So Troy got Hitch to drive back to their regular oasis-camp.

It'd been tough to get out of there safely – and Tully was evidence that nothing had really been safe – and Troy didn't understand why. They'd gone on hundreds of raids, and they'd almost never been met with such heavy, unexpected opposition. Unless Dietrich had been there and somehow had learned of their coming. Troy shook his head. He should've been more careful, instead of barging in like they owned the place.

"Sarge!" It was Hitch, with a quiet shout.

Troy broke out of his thoughts and looked ahead to where Hitch was pointing. Their base was in sight. And so where several half-tracks, a tank, and dozens of German soldiers. It was too large a force to simply be a small group pausing at the oasis for a rest. The oasis wasn't even big enough for everything, and most of the vehicles were spilling into the desert. But whatever their reasons for being there, it was trouble. They hadn't spotted the jeep yet, but if they didn't get out of there soon, there wouldn't be a jeep left to drive.

"Let's get out of here, Hitch."

Hitch steered the jeep back around and left as fast as the thing could go. Troy had a hand pressed against Tully's shoulder – he was unconscious at the moment – but blood seeped through his fingers, and it wouldn't be long before he'd have lost enough blood for things to be critical. "Get us back to HQ on the double. Tully's not going to make it if we don't get there soon."

Hitch nodded.

:::

"How is he, doctor?"

"I've taken the bullet out. It fractured his shoulder, and unless he gets complete bed rest for the next month or so, his arm could be crippled permanently." The doctor rubbed his eyes, and Hitch felt tired himself. It was four in the morning and they'd brought Tully in at one. The doctor had been working all early morning to staunch the bleeding, remove the bullet, and generally get Tully fixed up.

Hitch exchanged glances with Troy.

"Can we see him?" Troy asked.

"He's sleeping off the anesthetic. Give it a few hours."

Troy nodded.

He and Hitch left the medical tent. "That's tough, Sarge. We're down to two of us and one jeep."

"Yeah, and Moffitt's still missing. Everything anyone said put him at German HQ, but he wasn't in any of the cells." Troy shook his head. "I don't understand any of it."

"Maybe they took him out for interrogation." Hitch didn't want to think about that, but it was a possibility. Along with another possibility that had been nagging the back of his mind ever since the ambush at German HQ. "Sarge, you don't think they could be right about Moffitt, do you?"

He could see the puzzled frown on Troy's face in the cold early light.

"What do you mean, Hitch?"

"I don't think Moffitt's a traitor, but it does look strange. He's not in their prison, we got bushwhacked at German HQ, and then there were all those guys waiting for us at the oasis." He felt ashamed to have even admitted any doubts, but it was best to keep everything in the open, on the level.

Troy shook his head. "Moffitt would never defect. It was just a coincidence. Or maybe Dietrich."

:::

"Ah, Hauptmann Dietrich," Richten said. "I'm glad to see that you have arrived."

Dietrich paid no attention to Richten's greeting. His entire attention was focused on the man sitting in the chair in Richten's office. Moffitt. A Britisher. And, most importantly, part of the Rat Patrol. He was wearing his usual desert clothes, had looked completely relaxed when Dietrich entered the room, and seemed to be on good terms with Richten. He couldn't understand any of it.

"You are probably surprised to see a member of that desert patrol, the one you've tried so hard to capture, here in this room," Richten said, gesturing to Moffitt. Dietrich gave a slight nod, and Richten then turned to Moffitt. "And you are probably wondering why Captain Dietrich is here."

"The thought had crossed my mind."

"I called Captain Dietrich here because he has the most experience with trying to capture you and your former companions. You and he will be working together toward the common purpose of capturing the rest of the Rat Patrol." Dietrich already knew this. Richten had contacted him yesterday and asked him to come down to headquarters, saying he had new ideas on how to capture the Rat Patrol. But he'd said nothing about a member of the patrol being there.

"Sergeant Moffitt has defected over to us," Richten said. "I expect we'll all be working together for years to come."

Moffitt had defected? Dietrich didn't believe a word of him. Out of all the members of the Rat Patrol, Moffitt was, in his mind, the least likely to give up on his country and the Allies in general. He didn't know what he based that feeling on, all he knew was that his intuition told him all this was false, it was a trap, and German High Command would pay for this error in judgement.

Richten was obviously enamoured with what he thought Moffitt could bring him. He wouldn't listen to a word Dietrich said. But somehow, he'd have to make him, and everyone else see, the deception that was being practiced on them.


	7. Commander

Dietrich stood at attention in a room that was much less luxurious than Major Richten's office. Meant for functionality, not ease and entertainment, this room was markedly different from Richten's, even though he'd only had to walk down a few doors to get to it. While Major Richten was an officer living comfortably, out of the line of danger, the man using this office was often directly in the line of fire, constantly risking his life for Germany.

Hands clasped behind his back, he waited for the man in front of him to look up from his work. He was not being kept waiting as a frustration or intimidation tactic, unlike something he might expect from Richten. If Field Marshall Rommel hadn't found time for him yet, there was good reason for that.

Finally, the older officer looked up.

"Dietrich," he said, and waved his hand. "At ease."

Dietrich relaxed his stance slightly.

"The preparations for this meeting are endless; they're beginning to drag off into infinity. It will be a miracle if we even get to the conference room tomorrow with all of Major Richten's delays." Rommel rubbed his eyes and pushed some papers away from the center of his desk. "I couldn't see you sooner – Major Richten did not even tell me you were coming."

"I wasn't called here for the meeting, sir," Dietrich said. He and Rommel had a professional relationship, one that could even be friendly at times, but it was in everyone's best interests to maintain a formality about the meeting. Especially since he'd come to ask something of a favour.

Rommel's raised his eyebrows. "Oh?"

"I was wondering, sir, if Major Richten told you anything about the British sergeant that defected over to our side a few days ago. A member of the Rat Patrol." Rommel shook his head, his expression interested. Dietrich had thought as much. Rommel had ties to Berlin, was a personal friend of Hitler, and Richten was almost certainly worried that Rommel would steal whatever glory he hoped to gain. His secrecy and greed were endangering the Reich.

"According to Major Richten, Sergeant Moffitt is in full cooperation with our war effort. Willing to give us whatever information he has, along with his desert skills. Money is his objective, as much as we can give him." As he said the words, Dietrich felt the same disbelief and alarm rising inside him that he'd experienced upon first hearing Richten's news.

"To have a member of the desert patrol could be invaluable," Rommel said. His eyes were sharp, intelligent, just like the famed mind that had outwitted countless Allied soldiers over the years. "You sense a problem." It was a statement, not a question.

"The man cannot be trusted," he continued. "I know how he thinks, to some degree, and he would never admit defeat, come over to us no matter what. And certainly not for any amount of money. Sergeant Moffitt is one of the loyalist members of the patrol. I speak from personal experience and contact."

In this, he, Sergeant Moffitt, and Rommel were all alike. And although he was inherently distrustful of the sergeant, he also had to admit a measure of respect. There were too many traitors these days. Rommel was loyal to Germany, as was he, and Moffitt was loyal to the Allies. Of that he had no doubt.

Rommel sighed. "Have you spoken to Major Richten about this?"

"He refuses to listen. I suspect it has something to do with the possible promotion that could come from all this."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Sir, it's hardly my place to-"

Rommel stood up and placed a hand on Dietrich's shoulder for a moment. "Your opinion is something I value, Dietrich. You've always had a clear mind when it comes to matters like this, and if this sergeant is a spy, what will you need done to prove it?"

Dietrich paused for a moment and thought. "The only thing to do at the moment, sir, is watch him," he finally said.

"The Britisher or Major Richten?"

He'd meant Moffitt, but if Richten tried to pull any tricks to secure his position that, from all reports, could crumble in another month or so, he needed to know. "Both," he said, looking for Rommel's reaction. Rommel merely nodded and sat back down. "Report whatever you find to me," he said. "I won't be here for more than a couple of days, since the Führer has ordered me back to Berlin. You can still contact me if you have anything to report."

"Yes, sir."

"Anything else?"

Dietrich shook his head, saluted, and left.

As he walked back down the hall to the room that Richten had assigned to his use, his mind was busy. Once he proved Moffitt to be a traitor – there was no 'if' about it – he would get word to Rommel, along with whatever evidence he found, and let Berlin handle it from there. Richten's career would fall to pieces if he continued to protect the traitor, and while Dietrich didn't care about that, he was worried that Richten would share information – unconsciously or even purposely – that would lengthen, or even doom, the Afrika campaign.

But he was only a captain, Richten was a major, so for the moment the only thing he could do was watch and wait.


	8. Wounded

"Looks like you're going to have to stay here for a few weeks, Tully," Troy said. It was the day after they'd brought Tully in, and the anesthetics had just worn off. The doctor had promised to alert them as soon as that happened, so they'd been sent for. Tully lay on a cot, with Hitch and Troy on one side, looking down at him. Troy turned his hat in his hands, his fingers running endlessly along the brim.

"What about Moffitt?" Tully said.

Troy sighed and glanced at Hitch. Then back to Tully. "We don't know. The Krauts were crawling all over our oasis and he wasn't in any of the cells." He'd thought it a hundred times before in the past two days, but the thought came again. Nothing makes sense about any of this. "We're going to see what we can do."

"Replacements?"

"Yeah," Troy said. "Boggs is picking some out right now.

A look of frustration crossed Tully's face for a moment, which was strange since he hardly ever showed what he was thinking or feeling. But Troy was pretty sure he knew why he had this time.

If anyone was close to Moffitt, it was Tully, and it was the worst kind of luck that had gotten him wounded. Not only would they be out an excellent driver and fighter, but Tully was probably the best qualified among them to figure out where Moffitt had gone, since they could almost read each other's minds at times.

And then there was the fact that replacements were usually crummy drivers and tended to get themselves killed.

"How's the shoulder?" Troy asked. Better to move the conversation away from touchy topics like Moffitt, Moffitt possibly being a spy, and green rookies who were a danger to everyone.

Tully nearly shrugged but caught himself. Even then, pain crossed his face and eyes.

"It's been worse."

:::

Listening in on the meeting had proved to be impossible. Guards were posted outside his door at all times – even more than usual, and he didn't know whether to attribute it to Dietrich, Richten, or another officer – there was nothing to be learned through the tiny air vent on the floor, and there were no windows or alternate routes of escape. Even if there had been, he wouldn't have used them. The risk of being caught was too great.

So he had to content himself with gathering snippets from the aftermath of the meeting.

Most of the officers gathered together for the meeting left the day after – busy schedules, of course – but Richten had also sat in on the meeting and he was staying behind indefinitely. It was just a matter of worming the information out of him in such a way that wasn't obtrusive or suspicious. Richten was excited by the prospect of rising fortunes, but he wasn't a fool.

And then there was Dietrich to contend with.

Moffitt felt exhausted; overwhelmed by everything he had to do, all the responsibility pressing down on him, but now wasn't the time to give up. He still had over three weeks to play his part and gather as much enemy intelligence as he could. There was also the guilt of the patrol's failed raid – he still had no idea who had survived and who hadn't – that he couldn't shake off. But he hid it, just like everything else.

:::

Several days passed.

Dietrich remained suspicious, Moffitt was sure, even if they rarely saw each other. More guards than ever patrolled the corridors and doorways and the fact that he ran into Dietrich at all showed that the captain was still watching his every move. Well, almost every move. The hours he spent in Richten's office, being grilled for information he apparently didn't have – Richten thought he was being subtle with his interrogation tactics, but Moffitt caught them every time – and gathering some in return, were off limits to Dietrich.

Richten was waiting for the El Jebel radio station to arrange a time for Moffitt to broadcast, and it was during the days of waiting that Moffitt got most of his information. Nothing as specific as troop numbers or locations, but there were enough general details to give the Allies a good starting point.

Writing anything down was still too risky, as was stealing any important documents, but Moffitt was used to memorizing large chunks of text or information for long periods of time. Years of studying Latin and French, along with committing English literature to memory had trained his mind for this kind of thing, and every night he would review in his head what he'd learned that day and all the previous days.

:::

They chewed through replacements like a starving man with a steak.

Nobody's fault, really, Troy reflected. Most replacements had little or no battle experience – why that was so made no sense to him, just the way it was – and the patrol went on dangerous missions that needed instant responses from everyone. With both Moffitt and Tully gone, it was even more chancy, but they couldn't just stop working until Tully was better and Moffitt was found.

He shook his head and stamped across the sand to Boggs' tent.

Yet another casualty to report.

:::

"I have good news, Sergeant Moffitt," Richten said, when Moffitt entered his office on the fifteenth day of his undercover work. Moffitt had started counting down the days – in his mind – until he would be back at Allied headquarters. Half his time was up, he had good information, now he just needed to see things through the next half.

"Oh?"

He almost dreaded going back. Having to face Troy and the others, especially if he was the cause of one of their deaths. But even that was better than having to keep up this constant facade. The whole thing was incredibly draining, more than any normal person would know.

"El Jebel's radio station has finally returned my calls. We will be going there tomorrow."

Moffitt's attention swung away from his own depressing thoughts to Richten's words.

He smiled. "It should prove interesting." As always, he sat down in the chair opposite Richten, was given a small glass of wine, and then the conversation-interrogation began. However, the interrogation side of things was starting to wear off. Richten was becoming friendlier and Moffitt was sure that by the time he left, the major would consider him a friend.


	9. Propaganda

Richten shuffled several papers around and threw them into his briefcase. They were already late for the propaganda broadcast and now that Dietrich demanded on coming with them. He regretted having ever sent for him in the first place, but his insights on the Rat Patrol had proved valuable. But there were limits on his generosity in accommodating the suspicious captain, and he'd breached them.

"You will not come with us," Richten said, glaring up at Dietrich.

"There could be a breach of security at the station, and I wouldn't want something like that to happen while the sergeant is partly my responsibility." Dietrich's words were polite, but there was an undertone of steel, even defiance, in his voice that couldn't be ignored. All the same, Richten ignored it.

He scowled. "Sergeant Moffitt is not your responsibility, captain. You forget yourself. I ordered you here merely as a consultant concerning that demon patrol and to corroborate any of Sergeant Moffitt's facts. Nothing more."

Snapping the briefcase shut, he stormed out of the room.

Dietrich was just like every other one of those promotion hounds in Berlin. Always grasping at advancement at any cost, even the downfall of a fellow officer. Disloyal. Mercenary. Richten shook his head, the scowl still etched firmly on his face as if set in stone.

:::

Dietrich stood in Richten's office, alone, for just a moment before he too turned and left. His hands were nearly shaking with anger and frustration. Richten was being stupid, impossible. Just because Moffitt had supposedly defected didn't mean they had to immediately set him up for a broadcast where he could transmit classified information to the Allies.

Better to have checks run by Berlin, even the Gestapo. Dietrich didn't condone most of what the Gestapo did, but their network of informants and spies made them an intelligence center for both Germany and the occupied countries and territories. But, no, Richten was too afraid of someone else getting the credit for Moffitt's defection. Or afraid that Moffitt would turn out to be a double-cross. Or both.

No, it was foolhardy to let a loyal Allied soldier speak to his superiors – it was an open secret that the BBC monitored all of El Jebel's broadcasts – after spending nearly three weeks as a trusted defector at German headquarters.

Dietrich shook his head and walked out of the building, to the motor pool. He'd follow them, monitor the situation, and stop the broadcast – somehow – if needed. He wasn't going to let either Moffitt or Richten get away with traitorous acts against Germany.

:::

Memories flooded back the moment Moffitt entered the room.

Windsor cringing in the corner.

Tully holding a gun on nearly everyone in the room – all at once.

Hitch hurriedly setting up a strong frequency.

Troy telling the BBC, and by extension the entire British army, to stop Operation Wildcat.

And himself, tossing pages of propaganda garbage to the floor.

Only now he was going to be reading some of the same propaganda.

Windsor was gone, of course, killed by the very people he worked for, but there had been no shortage of propaganda readers to choose from. Moffitt took an instant dislike to the Germans' new pick – and small, scrawny man called Dickson – but, then, he would've disliked anyone in the role. But the disturbing thought kept coming back to him; that he was one of them now.

"How do you like the remodeling, sergeant?" Richten asked.

Moffitt looked around with an appreciative expression. The room didn't look all the different, but they'd replaced the door. Small wonder, since the last time he'd seen it, bullet holes were riddled through it, both from inside and out. "You've done a good job," he said.

Richten smiled thinly. "We had to change everything after you and your former comrades attacked."

"I can see that."

Richten pulled a paper out of his briefcase. "This is what we want you to read. Go over it now, and in a few minutes, Dickson will introduce you over the air." He handed Moffitt the sheet and then walked away to talk with Dickson.

Moffitt skimmed down the page. No real surprises. The same trash that poured into thousands of ears every day – unless they switched it off. The only real difference was that it was written from the perspective of a man who's realized that the Third Reich will sweep into a glorious victory, and all soldiers listening would do well to realize the truth of it as well. None of the broadcasts ever really turned anyone over to the enemy side, so there was no danger there; it wasn't what he was worried about. And he didn't want to think about what he was worried about. It seemed petty, in the face of all the lives he would be saving.

That he would be considered more of a traitor than he already was.

Richten came up to him once again. "Ready?"

Moffitt nodded, pushing down all his indecision.

"I want you to read it word for word," Richten said. "Word for word."

Moffitt got the message. He wasn't to include any personal messages of his own. He'd briefly considering doing so on the drive to the station, but had concluded the risk was too great. Richten wasn't a fool. So he would read the words on the page, and that was all, even if none of it sounded like anything he would say.

:::

The radio droned on endlessly.

Tully's head felt thick, fuzzy, a result of all the morphine they were giving him to keep the pain manageable. There were about ten other guys in the hospital tent, all in varying states of consciousness. Somewhere above, the radio was playing, the only entertainment they had. Tully just wanted to go to sleep and forget about it.

_"Good evening, soldiers everywhere,"_ a voice came from the radio, circulating through the tent.

He would've rolled his eyes if they weren't half-closed all the time. Eight o'clock, time for the Krauts to jam their signals and switch to a broadcast of their own. Happened every time. He waited for a nurse to come in and shut the radio off just to get rid of the propaganda that always came spouting out the traitor's mouth.

_"I have a very special guest with me today-"_

Tully couldn't have cared less if he tried.

_"-a Sergeant Moffitt, lately of the famous Rat Patrol, here with a message for you."_

Despite the drugs, Tully's eyes opened fully, alert. Before he could think or say or do anything, Moffitt came on the air. Talking about how foolish the Allied war effort was, how comfortable and happy he was now that he'd realized that, and that he urged every Allied soldier to do the same.

_"While all of you are fighting an enemy much stronger than you, sweating in your tanks, or lying wounded in a filthy tent, I sit here, surrounded by friends. Food, drink, and recreation available to me at any time at the proud Reich's very own headquarters. Come in, relax, and enjoy a drink with me. My friends will be more than happy to accommodate you."_

Tully couldn't believe what he was hearing.

Sure, it was Moffitt's voice. There was a ring of sincerity in his words. And no hint of being made to speak under torture. But it didn't match up, didn't make sense with the Moffitt he knew. First, his escape, if you could call it that. Then the ambush at German HQ. Kraut tanks and half-tracks and men all around their camp. And now this.

Anyone else would've called it grounds for a traitor.

But Tully didn't believe it. Moffitt would never betray any of them, the thought was laughable. Something about this didn't add up, and if he hadn't had a banged up shoulder, he would've been out there, finding out what exactly was wrong.

:::

The broadcast ended, and Dietrich walked into the room.

"Captain Dietrich! What are you doing here?!" Richten half asked, half shouted.

Moffitt stepped away from the booth, and Dietrich glanced at him for a moment before answering Richten. He looked tired, drained even, and Dietrich couldn't be sure – maybe it was just his imagination – but it looked as though Moffitt's hands were shaking.

"Well?" Richten bellowed.

"I wanted to make sure the broadcast went well, sir," Dietrich said. And as far as he could tell, it had. Moffitt had read Richten's notes, he'd heard no messages sent to the Allies, and they were all going back to the heavy security of headquarters. He couldn't care less about Richten's anger right now.

Things had gone well, and for the moment that was all that mattered.


	10. Plan

By now everyone would have heard – or at least heard of – the broadcast.

It was nearly two in the morning, and Moffitt still hadn't gotten to sleep. Wasn't surprising, really, thinking back over the events of the day. The broadcast. Propaganda. Dietrich's suspicions. And all the guilt he felt over the whole thing. All those nameless, faceless soldiers that heard what he had to say...those weren't the ones he was worried about, torn about. It was having to face Tully. And Troy and Hitch.

He turned over on his right side, pulled the blanket more tightly around him and closed his eyes. In terms of getting to sleep, it was a useless attempt. If his eyes were open, thoughts buzzed in his mind endlessly – thinking about what he could've done differently, if the mission had been worth it, what the others would think the next time they came face to face, nearly worrying himself sick over who'd been shot. But if they closed, all he could see were images of that day, and all the days before that.

No, there wouldn't be any sleep for him tonight.

:::

"Don't expect to get any sleep tonight, sergeant," Boggs said.

Troy had given up the idea awhile ago, but he didn't say anything. With the news of Moffitt's broadcast still fresh in his mind, he doubted he could've relaxed even if Boggs had given him a two-week leave. "Another mission, sir?"

Boggs nodded. "In a manner of speaking. We want you to get Sergeant Moffitt out of German HQ."

Troy raised his eyebrows. That was the last thing he'd expected. "Moffitt, sir? Why?"

"Well, naturally we don't want such an important member of this campaign spouting of propaganda and giving away military secrets, so High Command has given me the okay to get him out. Bring him in for questioning, a trial, and so on. Think you can handle it, sergeant?"

"Yes, sir." It wasn't as easy as that, since the last time they'd stormed German HQ, they'd nearly lost Tully, but the element of surprise – a random attack in the dead of night – would be on their side. And Troy was determined not to leave without Moffitt this time. Forget High Command, he wanted some answers.

"Good. I suggest you leave as soon as possible."

Troy saluted and turned to leave.

"Oh, and, sergeant?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Good luck."

"Thank you, sir."

:::

Hitch and Troy had crowded up beside Tully's bed again.

"High Command wants us to go get Moffitt," Troy said. "Just thought you'd want to know."

Tully looked up at him. "I'm going with you."

Troy shook his head. "The doctor said you needed a month of recuperation."

"I'm going, Sarge." His voice was quiet, he almost never yelled, but Troy needed to understand how important this was to him. The shoulder was healed up enough – enough to drive, use a weapon if needed – and they weren't going to keep him out of this mission. Moffitt was his closest friend out here, and this mission would be dangerous for him as well. Everyone thought he was a traitor – even he wasn't sure what he thought any more – and something could go wrong with trying to get him out.

"I'm ordering you not to come," Troy said, a sharp edge in his voice.

The whole thing was difficult for him too. He'd lost a friend, along with his right-hand man.

But that thought didn't change Tully's mind.

"We'll let you know how things go," Troy said, apparently considering the matter settled. "Come on, Hitch. Let's go." Both of them turned and left without a backwards glance, which was fine with Tully. The sooner he was able to act, the better. It was the middle of the night, almost all the other patients were sleeping and at the moment, there were no nurses in sight.

He slipped off his cot, waited a couple of seconds, and then left the tent.

The jeeps were a few yards away, two replacements in one, Troy and Hitch nowhere to be seen. Probably getting the last of the gear. He'd have to move quickly.

Walking confidently up to the stranger in the front seat – he'd learned it was best to look confident when doing something subversive – he tapped the guy's shoulder. He was blond, about the same build as Tully, and hopefully Troy wouldn't notice the difference until it was too late to do anything.

"Yes?"

"My shoulder's healed up," Tully said, "so I'll be driving for this one."

Every now and then, his shoulder twinged a litte, but for the most part, it was fine. Good as always.

The replacement looked almost happy as he left the jeep, but not before Tully borrowed his helmet for the duration of the mission. Troy had probably said something about a risky mission. The other one sat in the side seat and Tully considered telling him not to say anything to Troy, but then Troy and Hitch were coming back, and it would've been too suspicious anyway.

"All right, let's shake it," Troy said as soon as he and Hitch were in the other jeep.

Tully gunned the engine, ignored the protesting of his shoulder, and followed Troy's lead.

:::

The sound of jeep engines startled Moffitt out of the half-awake, half-asleep condition he'd been in. There were only four – three, now – men who were foolhardy enough to enter German headquarters with two jeeps and nothing else.

He sprang up, already fully awake.

They'd come for him already.

And it was time to face up to what he'd done.


	11. Escape

The compound was chaos, just as it had been the last time, but it was a different kind of chaos.

It was the mad, harried, jumbled scramble of surprise and alarm; not the cool, calculating counter-attack of preparedness. Moffitt had run out of his room as soon as the machine guns had started and now he ran down the outer stairs, toward the nerve center of the raid. It was a natural enough reaction, not one to cause suspicion. Just another person going to see what all the noise was about.

But they would spot him and have him away before any damage was done. Hopefully.

Of course, he couldn't exactly wave and say "Over here!", but they'd find him all the same. It was just a matter of time, as long as Richten or any else important didn't appear and order him back inside. He wasn't really worried about Richten, though, as he didn't strike one as a man to put himself in danger to warn a comrade. No, the person he kept an eye out for was Dietrich.

:::

Dietrich ran out onto the second-level balcony. His eyes swept over the compound and took in the entire scene with one glance. One jeep was spreading confusion and bullets all around, while the other one had stopped right by the main building, almost underneath where he stood. Spotlights played around the ground and structures, and a siren whined in his ear.

Right below him, movement caught his eye. He leaned over the edge and stared straight down. One of the patrol ran up the lower stairs, grabbed the arm of someone who stood there, and dragged that same person back down and into the jeep.

Dietrich pulled out his pistol and fired, but he knew it wouldn't do anything to stop them. But it seemed better than doing nothing, and the anger rising inside of him needed an outlet. Anger mostly directed toward Richten, because of his greed. Because of the fact that Sergeant Moffitt, who probably knew more than he did about internal matters, was speeding away toward the desert.

He would go inside, and tell-

A small, black object hurtled toward him, highlighted in a spotlight beam.

An explosion rocked the balcony's structure, with bits of debris falling from the roof, and cracks appearing in the floor beneath the palm trees that sheltered headquarters from the worst of the desert sun. A frond caught fire.

Sirens wailed on.

:::

Bullets flew everywhere, in all directions, from both the Germans and the Rat Patrol, and the jeeps were right in the thick of it. As Tully had nearly pulled him down the steps and into the waiting jeep, Moffitt felt a hot pain slam into his stomach. He nearly bit through his tongue trying to keep his cry in. They didn't have time to be taking care of wounds right now.

He breathed in and out, in and out, focusing on the air leaving and entering his lungs.

Now he was sitting in Tully's jeep, at a slightly awkward angle, to keep the pain in his stomach as light as possible. He had no idea how deep the bullet was, if he was losing too much blood, if he'd be dead in an hour. As soon as he knew anything, he'd have to break silence and give the information to one of them. Letting it die with him would be unthinkable.

The gate was closed, but the guards in front of it crumpled. Hitch jumped out of the other jeep – then Hitch was alright, as well as Tully – and shoved the gate open. Tully hardly waited for him to get out of the way to push through, with the other jeep right behind him.

As they left the compound and picked up speed, Moffitt fought to keep from blacking out. The landscape was blurring all around him, from the speed or from the pain, he didn't know. But he couldn't go unconscious. He knew that if he did, Tully would stop and take care of him before moving on and they couldn't waste the time.

He gritted his teeth and kept his eyes open.

:::

Nearly six miles out from German HQ, and there was no sign of pursuit.

Tully pulled the jeep to a stop and Hitch did the same a moment after. Troy jumped out, followed by Hitch, and came up to where Moffitt sat and Tully stood. "You stopped," Troy said. "Why?" Ever since he discovered that Tully had joined the raid, his temper had been short and his words sharp. Tully didn't blame him. Everyone's nerves were on edge right now – you just had to work on controlling it.

Seeing Moffitt had pulled up every single emotion and bit of confusion he'd ever felt or had. Maybe he was a traitor, maybe there was an explanation for everything, but either way, Moffitt was still a friend. Tully didn't expect everything to be normal again, but having everyone together, running away from the Germans was as close to normal as he'd had in nearly a month.

Troy was still waiting for an answer, and Tully shrugged a little. He didn't have a good reason for stopping, it just seemed like the right thing to do. Figure out how they'd handle things now that Moffitt was with them, if they were going to put someone on guard duty till they got back to HQ. Nothing important, really, but it seemed wrong to just go ahead to HQ without stopping for a moment.

"You want to talk to him?" Tully asked. He wasn't sure what he'd say to Moffitt, but maybe Troy wanted to clear a few things up. Tully wanted that too, he just wasn't sure how to start up the whole conversation.

Troy looked past him, at Moffitt. He shook his head. "No."

Trust had been broken, and it would be impossible to go back to everything being normal even if Moffitt had a good explanation for everything. And the more he thought about it, the less he could think of a good reason.

"Let's go," Troy said.

Tully nodded. Nothing had been resolved, but there was nothing else to say.

:::

Moffitt felt a wave of relief. Troy was fine, Tully was fine, and Hitch was fine. Maybe Richten had been lying to test his loyalty, something he wouldn't put past him. With the relief came an attack of exhaustion and he didn't feel like fighting it anymore. None of them wanted to talk with him or about him, everything could be resolved at headquarters, and the pain was too much to handle in wakefulness. All he wanted was to sleep and forget everything, even if it was only for a few hours.

:::

Troy kept his eyes straight ahead, jaw clenched. He'd buried any relief or happiness or the adrenaline rush over seeing Moffitt alive and well. He still couldn't believe that Moffitt had defected, turned traitor, but there wasn't any other explanation for any of it.

The broadcast, for one. And Tully's shoulder and the oasis.

Part of him wanted Moffitt back, just the way he'd been before the whole mess, but that wouldn't be happening, so he suppressed any hope of it ever happening. A wall had built itself up between him and everything else – especially Moffitt – and he doubted it would ever come down. The foundation had been laid with the ambush, and now it was several feet thick.

Troy shook his head and glared into the thick blackness ahead.

:::

The sky was just starting to fade into grey when they pulled up at HQ. Tully slipped out of the jeep and walked around to Moffitt's side. He'd been quiet all through the drive, not that Tully had tried to start up any conversations, and he seemed to be sleeping now. Tully hesitated a moment, and then shook Moffitt's shoulder.

A gaping, bloody bullet wound stared back at him when Moffitt's arm shifted away from stomach.

Tully's hand fell to his side.


	12. Recovery

Richten glowered at the papers in front of him.

Their glorious headquarters was in shambles, Sergeant Moffitt was nowhere to be seen – his only chance at promotion and an escape from the campaign – and the campaign itself was going poorly. Even though headquarters had suffered some severe blows, the army could not wait another month for the spearhead attack.

It was supposed to be a surprise, an ambush on Allied forces, but that part of the plan had never got off the ground. They'd been waiting with a counterattack of their own, and Richten was growing nervous. It looked as though Dietrich had been right about Sergeant Moffitt. Hopefully he'd die before saying anything, but Richten began making escape plans nonetheless.

:::

It was only through the radio faintly coming through the canvas walls of the hospital tent that Moffitt learned that his information had been put to good use. No one came to see him – not that he blamed them – and even the nurses made the least amount of contact possible. There was nothing he could do about any of it, so he focused on getting well.

No easy task, since after being stitched up in a preliminary manner by the doctor, he'd insisted on relaying his information to High Command immediately. The debriefing took less than hour, since he'd gone over the information in his head so many times so as not to forget it, but the strain and work of remembering important details through the haziness in his head was hard to ignore.

It was only after he was sure they had everything he could give him that he relaxed and was whisked back to the operation tent.

That was nearly a week ago, and he was only just beginning to get his strength back. Still, he felt content, if not happy. Boggs – the only visitor he'd had all week – had assured him that spying charges would not be followed through and as soon as they were certain the German attack had been successfully stopped, he would be able to make steps toward clearing his name and explaining everything.

Not everything would be the same, though. High Command could release as many bulletins as they wanted claiming his innocence – although they probably wouldn't bother to even send out one – but the radio broadcast would always be a black spot on his record. If not officially, then in his own mind. Not to mention betraying his teammates in order to gain a strategic advantage.

But at least it was a start.

:::

The news was bad.

Dietrich shook his head. He knew it, he'd always known, that Moffitt had never defected to their side. Rommel's tanks were being pushed back, countless lives had been, and would continue to be lost, and the bulk of the blame was at Major Richten's feet. The German army was in ruins, because of one man's ambition.

His own personal setback wasn't any little thing itself. While most of his injuries had been caused by flying debris, his hands and right arm were burned with varying degrees of severity. The doctor hadn't told him how severe, but the pain was relentless. The field hospital he'd been transported to had no sophisticated equipment or medicines to deal with the worst of his burns, but it was better than nothing.

He briefly considered sending a message to Rommel, detailing Richten's mistakes and greed, but decided not to. What was the point? It would be a petty thing to do, especially since Berlin would dig deep to find out what went wrong, and their trail would almost certainly lead to Richten and a certain British sergeant.

There was nothing more he could really add. The Gestapo were thorough.

:::

An MP opened the flap that led into Boggs' tent and Troy walked in.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

Boggs nodded. "Sit down, sergeant. I have something to tell you that might come as something of a shock." Troy sat down while Boggs did the same, and waited for whatever shocking news Boggs had. At the moment, he didn't think much could surprise him, considering the way things had been going lately.

"It's about Sergeant Moffitt."


	13. Conclusion

"I couldn't tell you anything; it was all supposed to be top secret."

"Well, you sure did a good job of keeping it that way."

After Boggs' talk with Troy, he'd called Moffitt to his tent as well, and let him explain in his own words. The longer he spoke, the more the burden of constant secrecy dropped away. Once he had all the facts, Troy seemed more like himself, although it was too soon to expect everything to return to its former state of normalcy.

"What'd the doctor say about your wound?" Troy asked.

Moffitt smiled, the relief of finally having everything out in the open getting to him more than he'd thought it would. "I'll be able to go back out whenever you need me." Of course, he'd still need to explain everything to Tully and Hitch, but he was sure they would feel the same as Troy.

:::

Tully sat in the jeep, slouched down into the cracks and irregularities of the driver's seat that he knew so well, chewing on a new matchstick. The sun was shining, but not enough to be uncomfortable, just nice and warm. He considered taking a quick nap. Troy had been inside for over two hours – he could've gone off himself like Hitch'd done an hour ago, but there was nothing better to do than sit and wait.

He was just about to settle deeper in and catch up on some much-needed sleep, when the Boggs' tent flap opened and out came Troy, bending down a little to fit under the low entrance. Finally. And then he saw Moffitt walking out right behind him.

Nothing really changed about Tully's stance, but his adrenaline rushed. What was Moffitt doing here? And with Troy? He pushed himself up with his right arm – it had been nearly two months since his shoulder had gotten shot and it hardly bothered him anymore – and waited for Troy to come up and explain everything.

"Where's Hitch?" was the first thing out of his mouth.

Tully shrugged.

"Well, find him and bring him back here," Troy said. His words might have not been the politest, but he was a whole lot more relaxed than Tully had seen him for a long time.

By the time he found Hitch – chatting with a nurse inside the hospital tent – the sun had started casting long shadows on the ground. They hurried back to Troy, and the only thing he said was, "Let's shake it." Moffitt's replacement was gone, Moffitt sat in his usual place, but Tully didn't comment. Troy would let them know what was going on sooner or later.

And all the way back to another one of their camps – this one near the base of a high, rocky cliff – Tully couldn't shake the feeling that maybe Moffitt wasn't a traitor after all.

:::

He told them about everything.

Hitch had asked a lot of questions, about details Moffitt would never have even thought of. Not because Hitch thought he was guilty, just out of curiosity. In retrospect, Moffitt should've expected questions like that, since Hitch was always curious, always wanting to find out new things. He shared as much as he could, both physically and emotionally, and thankfully Hitch didn't ask about the more personal things like feelings and the ever-present moral dilemma.

Tully, on the other hand, hardly said a word. He just listened, rolling his matchstick between his fingers and staring at it. Anyone else might have taken his lack of questions or eye contact as lack of interest, but Moffitt didn't. Tully's mind had been busy all the time he'd talked, weighing his words, seeing everything play out in his mind, and coming to his own conclusions about everything Moffitt said.

"That's a pretty crazy story," Hitch said, with something near awe in his voice. Tully looked up from his matchstick and stuck it in his mouth again. "Pretty wild stuff," he said after a moment, looking right at Moffitt.

"It's what we do, isn't it?" Moffitt said.

Tully smiled and shrugged, then nodded.

After that, they all drifted a little away from each other to work on different tasks, ordinary tasks, the kind they'd been doing the night he'd left. Hitch making coffee, Troy mixing up some packaged stew, Tully making sure the jeep engines were fine, and Moffitt pulling out blankets from the back of the jeeps.

It felt good to be doing something normal again, even if, in the long run, it had just been another mission. Hadn't it? In some ways, yes...in others, not so much.

He put that out of his mind and focused on the present, since that was the only thing he could do and still manage. What's done is done, and all that. The Allies had broken through, Rommel's Panzars were routed, and their team was growing back together now. The good far outweighed the bad, in his mind, and that's all he allowed himself to think about. Not Tully's shoulder – something he'd learned about from Troy - or the propaganda broadcast or the fact that many people still thought him a traitor.

After all, when you had friends like these, you could face anything.

_Finis._


End file.
